|gel ink pen on yellow card stock|
A face runs down the leg into the floor- the crowd hoots and pines for more.
The pivot to the tip of Father Time's hourglass agonizes in a preconceived apprehensive ESP.
Cycle of deja vu sampling infinity's bounce hurtling sands of rhyme funneling thru the slide of inertia.
The race fanned to beg out the boor- loud fruit between rind and core.
For more on info on the Sacred Magic Mushroom, click HERE for my post called, "Fruit of the Earth" from Illustration Friday last year!